


Somewhere Between Life and Death

by shiiki



Category: Harry Potter/Pushing Daisies
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiiki/pseuds/shiiki
Summary: After an encounter in the Forbidden Forest, Magizoologist Rolf Scamander develops a strange power: the ability to raise the dead with his touch. Private Investigator Emerson Cod knows just how to exploit this talent, but the partners get more than they bargained for when they investigate the murder of Luna Lovegood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a HP/PD crossover fic written for [](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/profile)[**omniocular**](http://omniocular.livejournal.com/) 's [screen play](http://community.livejournal.com/omniocular/187353.html) challenge. The challenge was to incorporate the show into a Harry Potter fic. 
> 
> Huge thanks to [](http://norisis.livejournal.com/profile)[**norisis**](http://norisis.livejournal.com/) for the amazing job she did beta-ing this. ♥

Rolf Scamander had never been particularly afraid of the Forbidden Forest. When he had been a student at Hogwarts, he'd made many an illegal excursion inside, following interesting-looking tracks in the hopes of discovering some creature his grandfather _hadn't_ known about. Tales of werewolves lurking inside didn't bother him; he knew as well as any wizard worth his wand that they didn't transform except on the full moon, and though his Astronomy marks were abysmal, he knew enough to read an almanac.

Ten years later, having dealt first-hand with magical creatures of all classifications (his grandfather might be _the_ theoretical expert on Magizoology, but even he couldn't boast of as much practical experience as Rolf), he was even less intimidated. Curiosity, not fear, was the emotion that piqued him as he followed Hagrid into the gloaming, tracing the tracks of magnificent winged horses which he had never laid eyes on before until now.

Thestrals. Which should have been completely invisible to him. Rolf had to pinch himself to be certain that he was not dreaming when he saw patches of the creature appear and disappear like blinking lights.

'There's summat wrong with the pack,' Hagrid said, as though this incredible display wasn't enough indication. 'They're spooked, like. An' not much scares one o' these things, I can tell yeh.'

Rolf had never actually _seen_ a Thestral, much less interacted with one, so he wasn't sure exactly how much help he'd be, Magizoology expert or not. Hagrid, he had to admit, was the expert here.

All the same, he got down to examining the creature -- as well as he could examine an invisible winged horse parts of which he could only feel, at any rate. There was something remarkably odd about the Thestral's hide. When Rolf put his hand on it, he felt layers of something shifting around. One moment he was stroking the leathery hide, the next his fingers were mired in a substance that slid softly against his skin like silk.

'Feel this,' he told Hagrid. 'They've been covered in something.'

This must be the reason they were flickering in and out of visibility to people who shouldn't be able to see them. This substance had somehow become attached to them, interacting with their leathery hides and affecting their magical properties. Although _what_ the substance was, Rolf had absolutely no clue.

Still, most magical substances were linked to a source. And if they got rid of it, chances were the Thestrals would go back to normal.

'Well,' he said, 'there's only one thing to do.'

'Wha's that?' Hagrid looked up, his enormous hands still stroking the Thestral's hide gently.

'Find the source of this ... stuff ... and get rid of it.'

It seemed straightforward enough. Follow the Thestrals into the Forest, find whatever was messing with their hides, and eliminate it. Though before he did that, Rolf thought he might like to study the substance. Something that could make Thestrals visible to someone who hadn't seen death had to be pretty darn powerful.

The tracks led them off the path, into uncharted areas of Forest. They found that there was a congregation of prints at the edge of a wide clearing. These seemed to pool in a circle around a tiny black stone ...  
Distracted by this mystery, Rolf, bending to get a closer look, didn't notice at first the clicking noises around them. Hagrid's loud swear made him spin around in time to see the terrifying sight: eight Acromantulas, massive, hairy, and drooling lethally, had arrived on the scene

Rolf couldn't help but let loose a couple of choice words himself as a loud click behind him made him leap away, heart racing faster than the whirr of a Billywig's wings. Why hadn't Hagrid _warned_ him that the Acromantulas were still here? He thought the colony had been wiped out after the war ...

His train of thought stopped dead as one of the giant spiders snagged his robes with its pincer-like limbs and lifted him high up.

'AHHHHHHH! _Conjunctivitis_! _Stupefy_!' As he flailed about, the combination of spells he fired wildly from his wand managed to strike the Acromantula, one in its eye and the other in its leg-joint. Rolf felt himself released ... but now he was falling through the air.

He landed with a thud on the forest ground, his head hitting a small rock that felt much harder than it should have done. The world around him swam and grew dark.

'Mosag!' he heard Hagrid roar, as though from a distance. 'It's me!'

_Good God,_ was his last thought as his consciousness waned, _Hagrid_ knows _these beasts?_

\---

'How many fingers am I holding up, Mr Scamander?'

'Two,' said Rolf impatiently. 'Now can I go?'

During his time at Hogwarts, Rolf had never liked the hospital wing. The smell of sterile instruments and medicinal potions had always been abhorrent to his nature-loving nose. There was also the way Madam Pomfrey used to fuss, very much the way she was doing now. Rolf tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down with hands that were surprisingly strong for a school matron. Or perhaps Rolf just wasn't in top health at the moment, despite his thoughts otherwise.

'Hagrid said you took a nasty knock in the Forest, so I'd like very much to be certain that you don't have a concussion.' She gave him a stern look. 'That means you're not going anywhere for a while, Mr Scamander, so you'd best get used to the idea.'

Checking that he didn't have a concussion turned out to be a very annoying business. Hagrid, feeling guilty about the accident, arrived with a bouquet of whiskery-looking flowers and stayed the night. Under Madam Pomfrey's instructions, he also proceeded to wake Rolf up on the hour to ask some terribly inane questions, such as 'What's your name?' and 'How old are you?'

At last, the morning arrived, and Madam Pomfrey pronounced him physically fit to leave. She bade him take the flowers along, although he doubted they'd live for long under his care. After all, he was a Magizoologist, not a Herbologist.

\---

The first incident happened three days after his sojourn into the Forest. Rolf was in Ottery St Catchpole, having paid a visit to Amos Diggory to give advice on a centaur dispute. He told Amos he fancied a walk afterwards, not quite wanting to Floo (the soot made him sneeze, and he thought he might already have come down with hay fever -- he probably should have thrown those flowers of Hagrid's right out; he'd have to do so once he got home). And so he found himself walking down a path that led to a very strange house in the distance. It was long and narrow, shaped like a towering chess castle. Rolf wondered what sort of people lived in a house like that.

A Kneazle stared at him from the side of the road, and Rolf smiled and held out his hand to it. It was wise to approach Kneazles with caution, as they didn't generally take to strangers, but Rolf had an affinity with the cat-like animals. He owned two pet Kneazles himself.

The Kneazle rubbed its head against Rolf's hand and purred.

'Good boy,' murmured Rolf, reaching around to scratch the spot on its underbelly where he knew all Kneazles adored being rubbed. 'Who do you belong to, then?'

The Kneazle turned its head in the direction of the distant house. Then it seemed to perk up and remember something, for it began to saunter off down the lane.

It happened very quickly -- the Muggle automobile came careening around a hedge, tires squealing, its driver clearly not looking out very well. Rolf cursed and dived out of the way, but the car didn't even come close to him. It sped off down the lane, leaving a lone casualty in its wake.

'Bastard!' yelled Rolf as he bent over the poor Kneazle, heart sore. His hand reached down to stroke its still-warm fur.

And suddenly, the Kneazle was on its feet, hissing and taking a swipe at Rolf. Its claws scraped across Rolf's frozen palm, drawing blood.

Rolf yelped and stared at the live Kneazle. A moment ago, he could have sworn it was dead. How could it have survived that crash?

He must have been mistaken. The Kneazle was very much alive now, scampering across the grass making a beeline for the strange-looking house on the hill.

No, it must just have been momentarily stunned. After all, dead animals didn't just wake up and start running away ...

Distracted by his thoughts, Rolf didn't noticed the perfectly healthy Muggle cat that suddenly keeled over and fell off a nearby fence.

\---

A Kneazle was one thing, but a _person_ was a completely different issue. And two Healers and a coroner had certified Newt Scamander dead.

Thus it was absolutely inconceivable that Rolf's grandfather should sit up in his coffin the moment Rolf's fingers brushed across his still form.

'Porpentina ...? Wait ... great galloping gargoyles! What in the name of Merlin's overstretched pants are you doing here, Rolf? Did you ... you're not dead, too?'

'I -- er ... not quite, Gramps,' stammered Rolf. 'You're not, um, dead. I mean, you were -- we could've sworn you were, but ...' _But I'm not quite so sure about that now_ , he finished mentally.

'Well, either I'm dead or I'm not.' Gramps looked at him suspiciously. 'I'm not a _ghost,_ am I? I thought I'd get to _make_ that choice!'

That gave Rolf pause. He examined his grandfather carefully, but realised quite quickly that no ghost in history had ever looked so opaque.

'I doubt you're a ghost, Gramps. You're just ... er, I suppose you just aren't dead yet?'

'Oh.' Gramps looked around him. 'If I'm not dead, why the bleeding hell am I in a coffin, Rolf?'

'Um ...' There wasn't going to be an easy way to explain this. Before he could, though, there was a loud _thump_ from outside the room, followed by a hysterical scream of fear.

'Well, help me out of this thing, son,' said Gramps. 'Something's obviously afoot out there.' He reached out for Rolf's hand to pull himself out ... and fell back as though suddenly hit by a Body-Bind the moment Rolf touched him.

'G-gramps?' Rolf's hand was shaking as he reached out to touch his grandfather again. Nothing happened.

'Someone Floo St Mungo's!' he heard someone call from outside the room. Rolf thought he should probably help, but he didn't feel as though he could move to do so. He had to clutch the edge of the coffin to support himself; his legs had suddenly gone weak. What in the name of Merlin's tatty old knickers had just occurred?

\---

The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. Occam's razor was pretty good for figuring out most things, but what happened when the simplest explanation was completely impossible?

Rolf lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling of his room, trying to reconcile the facts, which were these: one, a dead Kneazle had come back to life when he touched it; two, his grandfather had been resurrected and returned to the dead. Both times when he'd touched them.

What conclusion could he possibly draw from these two events? That he could bring dead things back to life (and then kill them again) simply by touching them? It was unimaginable. He didn't _want_ to imagine it.

Either that or he was going mad. Yes, that was always a possibility.

Rolf didn't _feel_ mad, though. Right now he felt perfectly sane -- he wasn't walking into walls or muttering gibberish to himself the way people in the padded rooms of St Mungo's did. But perhaps there were different forms of madness.

That was a chilling thought. Imagining himself enclosed within the clinical walls of a hospital made him shudder.

Well, he wasn't going to get any saner lying in bed ruminating about it. Rolf threw off his bedclothes and sat up, rubbing his eyes. When in doubt, fall back on the scientific method: test the theory by conducting some experiments. Within minutes he was turning his house upside down searching for any organism that might be dead.

He turned up Hagrid's whiskery flowers -- now wilted -- in the trash. Carefully, wearing the dragon hide gloves he usually used for dealing with diseased animals, Rolf lifted the dead flowers out of the bin and laid them on the table. Then he removed the gloves and gingerly put out a finger to touch one stalk.

As with the other two 'accidents', the flower returned to life: the stalk stiffened and the petals seemed to blush with revived colour. Another gentle stroke of his finger and they crumpled back into a wilted heap. Further contact caused no more unnatural resurrections.

A few more experiments with different stalks of flowers uncovered something more alarming: when he let the revived flowers live for more than a minute, the cactus on his windowsill shrivelled up and died quite rapidly. And returning the flowers to their original state did nothing to help the now-dead prickly plant.

_Well_ , thought Rolf, trying to stay calm and look at the situation reasonably. At least he had a minute to restore things to their original order. He thought guiltily about Gramps and the poor bloke who had collapsed because of what he'd done. If only he'd understood earlier what was going on. He said a silent apology to the unfortunate man.

Then he wondered about the Kneazle that had been the first thing he'd revived. Should he attempt to put that right? Whatever it was that had given its life for the Kneazle was already long-dead by now, though. He decided (with a glance at Toby and Toaster sleeping in their baskets) to leave the Kneazle alone. And it was probably best if he avoided Ottery St Catchpole from now on.

\---

The week after Rolf's unfortunate revelation passed quite comfortably. He encountered no dead things (nor live things that should have been dead), and so was able to reassure himself that his new-found 'talent' wouldn't bother him much. Certainly there was no need to go to St Mungo's. This conclusion brought him much relief.

Things were fairly quiet on the work front, which would have worried him under normal circumstances. Ever since he'd returned to England, Rolf had been working freelance as a consultant on magical creatures, a job that didn't generally pay well even when he had plenty of calls lined up. He did receive a request for a visit from a Luna Lovegood of Ottery St Catchpole (the name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it), but he turned it down. Other than that, he was mostly left to immerse himself in old books about fantastic beasts.

Thursday afternoon, he decided to head down to Diagon Alley to see if Flourish and Blotts had any new literature on fire-breathing eels -- a most interesting phenomenon, considering the fact that the creatures survived in freshwater ponds. A side trip to Fortescue's to satisfy his sweet tooth wouldn't be unwelcome either. Although the sundaes there were nowhere near as delicious as when Rolf was a boy and old Fortescue himself had run the shop, they were tasty enough.

He was unable to find the book he wanted, but the sales assistant at the bookstore promised him that there would be new stock coming in next week. His trip to the ice-cream shop was more successful, and he emerged with a double-choconut and fudge cone (impervious to sun, of course!) The lunchtime crowd was hurrying down the street about this time, so Rolf ducked into a quiet alleyway to eat his ice-cream in peace.

It turned out to be a bad idea. He hadn't even got to the fudge layer when out of nowhere, a flare of green light seared across the tops of the buildings bordering the alleyway. Something large and heavy fell from where the light had been and landed at Rolf's feet.

Rolf dropped his cone in shock as the limp body of a man fell against him and immediately bounced back upright. The man looked at Rolf in shock for two seconds, then started to run away. It took Rolf a few seconds longer to absorb what had just happened, but when it did sink in -- fortunately before the man disappeared into the crowd -- Rolf panicked and sprinted after him.

He was well winded by the time he caught up to the man down yet another deserted alleyway and slapped his shoulder, causing him to crumple. Rolf stood over the now-dead man, heaving and clutching at the stitch in his side. It was a moment before he could catch his breath enough to take a step back and stare at the dead man in horror as the reality of what had just happened caught up to him.

_Oh Merlin_. He'd just killed -- _no!_ his mind protested vehemently, the man had already been dead. Rolf's touch had simply returned him to his natural state.

Before he had any time to consider this further, however, a voice behind him made his heart sink even deeper than he thought it could.

'I don't know what sort of wandless magic you've done, but I've got my wand on you, so don't try anything funny.'

Rolf gulped and turned around slowly to see a dark, pudgy man with a shiny black head and a slightly pug-like face pointing a wand at him.

'You're gonna put your hands up in the air where I can see them. Now!'

Rolf did so, trying to stop his arms from trembling as they went up. 'I -- I can explain,' he stammered.

'You'd better have a damn good explanation,' growled the bald man.

'I can touch dead things and make them come back to life but when I touch them again they go back to being dead,' said Rolf very quickly.

To his credit, the bald man managed to absorb all this. Unfortunately, he didn't look exactly convinced.

'Touch the guy, then,' he said. 'Go on and make him come back.'

'I can't. It only works once.'

The bald man snorted. 'That's convenient.'

'It's _true_ ,' Rolf said desperately. 'If -- if you find something that's dead -- get an animal, or a plant or something -- I can prove it. Please.'

Eyes narrowed, the bald man considered him. Finally, he said, 'I must be out of my mind, but okay. There's plenty of dead-looking things down this alley. Let's go find one.' He motioned for Rolf to lead the way, and Rolf did so nervously, aware that the bald man still had his wand pointed at Rolf's back.

As it turned out, they were in Knockturn Alley. And it was as the bald man had said: there was no shortage of dead things. After Rolf had demonstrated his ability with three rats, a toad, and four salamanders, the bald man finally conceded that Rolf might be telling the truth.

'Lemme get this straight,' he said. 'You touch dead things, you bring them back to life, you touch them again, and they go back to being dead.'

'I don't go around making it a habit,' said Rolf, annoyed.

'We could do something with this,' said the bald man, ignoring Rolf's interjection. 'Emerson, by the way. Emerson Cod. I'm a PI.'

'A ... what, sorry?'

'Private Investigator, sonny. Not many of us hereabouts, by the looks of it.'

Emerson Cod, as Rolf suspected from his accent, hailed from America. He'd Portkeyed across the Atlantic on the tail of a suspect in one of his cases -- a suspect, it turned out, that Rolf had just worked his magic on.

'The guy must've been involved in a greater mess than I thought,' Emerson said. 'Had a whole horde of hit-men after him the moment he arrived.' He shook his head, looking annoyed. 'Won't get any information out of him now. There goes my reward.' He turned to Rolf, his eyes turning speculative. 'You sure that thing of yours won't work twice?'

'No.'

Emerson considered this for a while. However, when he spoke again, it was to change the subject. 'Private investigation's a pretty good business, you know. The things people would pay to find out. Ain't always easy to figure that stuff out, though.'

'Er ... I'm sure it's very interesting and all, but why are you telling me this?'

'I think you and I have something here,' said Emerson, leaning closer.

Rolf automatically leaned back. 'I -- um ... I don't really _swing_ that way, ah --'

'I didn't mean _that_ kind of something, idiot,' said Emerson. 'I was suggesting a business partnership.'

'A _business_ partnership?' repeated Rolf, stunned. 'What kind of business?'

'Private investigation, of course! All you need to do is get some dead people talking.'

'Excuse me?'

'It'd be a great deal less trouble if you could actually _ask_ murder victims who killed them, instead of hunting for clues about the murderers.' A sly grin was spreading across Emerson's face now. 'So you bring them to life, we get the information, you put them back, and we go to the Aurors and collect a reward.'

'I'm sure the Aurors are pretty capable of handling their cases themselves.'

Emerson gave another snort. 'You looked in the papers lately? Plenty of rewards offered for leads. Not always easy to get those, trust me. And it ain't always the Aurors. Sometimes normal folk get agitated about capturing criminals, too.'

'Yes, but ...'

'Look, I promise you there's big bucks in it. You can't tell me you don't need money. Everybody needs money. I'll be fair -- a two-way split, fifty-fifty. How's that sound, er -- what's your name again?'

'You didn't ask,' said Rolf stiffly. Emerson gave him a pointed look. 'Rolf Scamander.'

'Rolf. So, what do you do, Rolf?'

'I'm a consultant on Magizoology.'

Emerson raised his eyebrows. 'Not a very lucrative field, is it?'

Rolf found himself sighing. 'No,' he confessed, thinking ruefully of the lack of calls in the past week. He had to admit that his career wasn't the most stable, and Emerson did have a point -- spare cash certainly could come in handy on a rainy day. It wasn't as though he'd be doing anything _illegal_ to come by it, anyway.

\---

'Luna Lovegood,' Rolf repeated, mentally turning over the name of their latest murder case. 'It sounds familiar.'

Emerson looked at him strangely. 'No shit, Sherlock. She's apparently one of your war heroes. Which means big money if we get the dirt on this one.'

'Really,' murmured Rolf absently as he racked his brains -- for the name most certainly rang a different sort of bell. He hardly knew any war heroes by name, after all, aside from the obvious Potter, Weasley, and Granger (and who didn't know _them_?) When the war had broken out, Rolf had been abroad assisting Gramps with his studies -- and doing a fair bit of research himself -- and they had stayed put in India until several years past the famous victory.

He still couldn't think where he'd heard the name until Emerson, running through all the data he'd acquired, mentioned, 'Ottery St Catchpole.'

'I'm sorry?'

'She lived in Ottery St Catchpole, keep up, will you?'

And Rolf remembered with a feeling of foreboding: Luna Lovegood, of Ottery St Catchpole, the last called he'd received; the one he'd turned down shortly before he had met Emerson.

\---

Luna Lovegood turned out to be a young woman of twenty-five, pale and blonde and peaceful-looking in death, as though in the midst of some pleasant dream. It made Rolf feel loathe to disturb her.

He was alone with her body. He and Emerson had arrived late in the evening, a time that Emerson claimed was the least popular for people to pay their respects.

'Gives them the willies, looking at dead bodies at twilight.'

In every case they'd taken on so far, Emerson's assessment had been pretty accurate, so Rolf saw no reason not to go along with it.

Emerson had fed the dead girl's father, a very wild-looking man named Xenophilius Lovegood, some tale about Rolf being an old friend of Luna's who had rushed all the way here from abroad when he'd heard the terrible news. Rolf had tried to arrange his features to suit this story, but he'd doubted that Mr Lovegood was in any condition to pay much attention to him. Emerson had ushered him out of the room, patting his back in what Rolf supposed was meant to be a comforting manner, while giving Rolf a meaningful glance. It said quite plainly, ' _Get on with it._ '

So with a silent apology to the girl, Rolf started his watch and touched her cheek.

Unlike the other corpses Rolf had touched to date, Luna Lovegood did not spring out of her coffin, or sit up abruptly, or make any sudden movements. She simply opened her eyes -- such large, round, protuberant, _knowing_ eyes as Rolf had never before seen -- and stared at him unblinkingly. Her smile remained on her face, giving her the look of one awakening from sweet dreams.

'Hello,' she said serenely.

Rolf resisted the urge to gape at her and waste his minute, reminding himself that he had to gather as much information as he could from her.

'Sorry, er -- Luna, but we've only got a minute, so I hope you won't mind my -- ah -- skipping the pleasantries to ask if you know who killed you.'

'Oh, am I dead?' she asked with interest. She propped herself up on her elbows and peered around, examining her surroundings. This was rather unnerving, but Rolf forged on.

'Um, not quite at the moment, but you only have a minute -- less -- and you get to answer some questions and then you'll have to go back to being dead. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' she said, still smiling. 'After all, death will be quite the adventure, I'm sure. And Mum will be there,' she added, brightening further. Her fingers brushed a pendant hanging loosely around her neck and a dreamy look crossed her face, as though she was remembering something fondly.

Rolf would have liked to ask her to elaborate on that last sentence, but his watch had already ticked down thirty seconds. He kept himself on track.

'Look, there's only thirty seconds left, so if you can just tell me who killed you --'

'I have no idea,' said Luna, her round eyes widening. 'I was tracking Nargles, you see, and then ... I'm afraid I don't remember much else now. I must have drifted off -- well, _died_ , I suppose—' the commonplace way she said this was _really_ quite disturbing '—and then the next moment, I saw you.'

She must have noticed his agitated glance to his watch, for she commented then, 'Oh, is my time up?'

Rolf couldn't quite bring himself to answer. He nodded instead.

'Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help,' said Luna regretfully. 'It was nice meeting you anyway, Mr Scamander.'

Rolf started at this. He was quite certain that he had not mentioned his name at any point throughout their exchange.

'How—' he began, his mouth dry, but he stopped himself. There was no time; if he did not touch her again, the reparation price of another life would be paid, probably by Emerson or Mr Lovegood.

Yet Rolf was hesitant. Not only because there were still so many unanswered questions, but also because the thought of sending this bright, beautiful, and so very intriguing girl back to death pained him.

He even considered, for a very brief second, if he could just let her live. In the end, though, there was only one choice, really. With a heavy heart, he let his fingers brush her arm, closing his eyes as he did so because cowardly as it was, he felt he could not stand to see the life leave her so abruptly.

When he opened his eyes again, Luna's were shut, giving her that tranquil look once more. Rolf bowed his head sorrowfully.

'I'm sorry.'

'Oh, you're still here.'

At the sound of Luna's calm, dreamy voice, he started so violently that he managed to bang his head into the lid of the coffin, knocking it from the stand holding it open and causing it to slam right down with a crash.

He stood there staring at the closed coffin, his heart thumping madly.

_It's just your imagination_.

It took several moments before he was able to compose himself enough to lift the lid of the coffin ... and promptly drop it again the instant it opened enough for him to see inside.

A pair of pale little hands caught the edge of the lid. 'This is heavy,' Luna observed, using one hand to hold the lid up, supporting herself with the other as she carefully climbed out of the coffin. Once out, she turned her large eyes on Rolf and said quite pleasantly, 'I think you may have been mistaken about the minute, Mr Scamander.'

'Have I?' Rolf's voice was faint. He found himself clutching the coffin to keep his legs from giving way underneath him.

He had touched her a second time, hadn't he?

'Quite so.' Luna looked completely unperturbed. 'I still seem to be here after all. And how fortunate, too. Now that I've had more time to think about it -- because one minute is a bit short to properly gather one's thoughts, you know -- I remember having some rather odd dreams when I was dead. It was quite beautiful, though. There was a meadow and a river.' She looked at Rolf again. 'You're not looking too well, Mr Scamander. Perhaps you'd like to sit down to discuss this? Our sitting room is just through this door.'

And before he had time to react, Luna had taken hold of his elbow -- with no ill effect to her whatsoever -- and steered him out of the parlour door.

The sight that greeted them as they entered the sitting room kept Rolf frozen in terror in the doorway: Mr Lovegood, collapsed against the table, Emerson's expression looking as though it had only just happened. Luna gave a soft gasp of ' _Daddy!_ ' and ran to him.

'Hell, no,' growled Emerson, coming to face Rolf. 'You haven't gone and done what I think you've gone and done, have you?'

Rolf grasped the door frame for support. Had he waited too long? Mistimed it and missed the one-minute cut-off?

'Oh, Daddy,' sighed Luna, shaking her head in a sage manner. Both men stared at her in surprise; she seemed entirely too calm. 'He hasn't drunk himself out this badly for years.' She held up a whiskey glass in explanation.

'You mean he's not dead?' Rolf blurted, relief colouring his voice.

Luna looked at him curiously. 'Why would he be? This is Firewhisky, not poison.'

Emerson gave a nervous chuckle. 'Might feel like poison when he wakes up with the hangover tomorrow morning.'

Luna's glance was reproachful. 'You shouldn't have let him drink himself into such a state.'  
Gently, she coaxed her father's wand from a pocket, her practised movements suggesting that it wasn't the first time she'd done something like this. 'I'm taking him upstairs so he can sleep this off,' she announced.

'Do you need help?' Rolf offered quickly, but she declined.

'That's kind of you, but I can manage.'

He would have insisted -- he felt terribly guilty about the whole situation, even if Mr Lovegood fortunately hadn't dropped dead thanks to him -- but Emerson stepped heavily on his foot all of a sudden. As soon as Luna had Levitated her father out of the room, Emerson whirled on Rolf, glaring.

'Somebody's got some explaining to do.'

Rolf, still wincing from the pain of Emerson's sharp soles, didn't answer.

'What is _she_ \--' Emerson jerked his head at the door '-- doing alive?'

'I don't know.'

'Uh-huh.' An eyebrow was raised.

'Honestly, I did it -- touched her again and all ... come on, you saw her dragging me in here by the arm. I don't know _why_ it's not working normally. Maybe ... maybe there's a glitch in the system. It could be breaking down,' he reasoned, trying not to sound too hopeful at the idea that his unwelcome skill might be fading on its own. Emerson, he knew, wouldn't be all that thrilled.

Emerson didn't look convinced. 'Or maybe you're holding back on me.'

Rolf's mind drifted to his thoughts prior to touching Luna the second time. That brief moment of hesitation ... Magic worked, in many instances, based on intent -- this was one of the first lessons he'd learnt in school. Was wanting, even minutely, at the last minute, to keep Luna alive the reason why this strange magic had failed?

But if it was, why _Luna_? And who was the price of her life?

'Your eye is twitching,' said Emerson suspiciously.

Rolf avoided his gaze. 'No it's not,' he replied automatically.

'Your _eye_ is twitching,' repeated Emerson.

'Must be -- um -- something in the air -- er ...'

'Wrackspurt got you?' asked a lilting voice.

'Wha—?'

'Wrackspurts,' said Luna sympathetically. 'They're invisible creatures that float in through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy. Sometimes they can cause involuntary facial spasms as well.'

The grin spread across Rolf's face before he even realised it. 'Wrackspurts,' he repeated with a nod. Given all the crazy stuff that had been happening, why not? 'Yeah.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' grumbled Emerson, clearly annoyed by this turn of events.

'You don't seem very happy,' noted Luna.

'Oh? Well, we've got a case that oughta been perfectly simple now blown up into a three-ring circle with a dead girl who ain't actually dead for keeps.' He glowered at Rolf as he said this. 'Forgive me if I'm too concerned about how we're gonna deal with all this, especially when the Aurors come knocking, to look _happy_.'

This effectively wiped the smile off Rolf's face. It was one thing to gather information from dead people to pass on as an anonymous tip; involving the Aurors personally was something else altogether: a bad idea any way you looked at it.

'Caught on, have you?' Emerson regarded him grimly. 'Hope you've got a clue what to do with dead girl here, because unless we think of something, we're fried.'

'You might want to call me something else,' Luna pointed out. 'Since I do seem to be quite alive. Most people call me Luna these days, though my friends used to call me "Loony" once.'

If looks could kill, Emerson would have had Luna back in the coffin. To her credit, Luna was completely unfazed.

'Do you mind if we start with an explanation? I'm still rather hazy on the dead-and-alive bits.' She smiled expectantly at Rolf.

'You ... probably should sit down for this,' he said.

Emerson threw himself back into one of the chairs around the table and pulled Mr Lovegood's half-finished bottle of Firewhisky towards him. 'I'm going to need the rest of this,' he groaned.

\---

Luna Lovegood, Rolf decided, was really something. Throughout his explanation, she hardly even batted an eyelash at the more outrageous-sounding parts. Unlike Emerson, she demanded no proof, simply accepted everything he said with a calm nod.

'Thank you,' she said. 'That was quite enlightening. Have you always had this ability to make dead people come back to life?'

'No, it -- er -- it just happened.' He still had no idea what had suddenly triggered his power; not that he'd spent that much time trying to figure that bit out. Since discovering the ability, his attention had been more focused on how to manage it.

'Okay, okay, okay,' Emerson cut in, before Luna could continue with another interested question. 'You've had your explanations. Can we talk about what we're gonna _do_ now?'

'That's reasonable,' she said politely. 'And I think I didn't finish answering your questions earlier, Mr Scamander.'

'Er -- just "Rolf" is fine,' he said automatically. He thought back quickly to his rapid one-minute interrogation. She'd mentioned some sort of creature ... 'That stuff you said about ... er, Nargles? '

Luna looked delighted. 'Oh, you remembered the Nargles! Yes, I was tracking Nargles up north -- I found a whole _colony_ of them, you know, it's quite amazing—'

'Excuse me,' said Emerson. 'What the _hell_ are Nargles? And what difference does it make whether you were tracking these things or Jarveys -- the question is still _how are we gonna cover our asses now?_ '

'Nargles are _quite_ different from Jarveys, you know,' began Luna, but Rolf thought he'd better do the cutting off this time, because Emerson looked as though he was about to pop a vein.

'I think -- and I'm really sorry about this, because it's going to be quite hard on you -- you're going to have to be dead for a while yet, Luna. I just don't see how we can explain just yet your ... um ... how you're _not_.' _And how are you_ ever _going to explain that?_

She accepted this quite calmly. 'What about Daddy?'

'If you're looking to cover this up properly,' said Emerson, 'you're going to want fewer witnesses. The man's drunk. He won't remember a thing of tonight. We get through your funeral, dig you up, spirit you away, nobody knows.'

Callous as this was, Rolf had to agree. It seemed, however, that Luna had her limits. Although her tone remained level, her luminous eyes flashed and her voice lost its faint singsong lilt as she said, 'I can't leave Daddy like that!'

'Look, dead girl -- Loony -- whatever you want to be called -- you _died_. You shouldn't even be walking around now, let alone arguing with us about this, okay?'

But Rolf had hit upon another potential problem in this situation. 'What about the people who killed -- tried to kill -- you?' Did it become attempted murder if the victim was saved _after_ the event? 'We don't know their motive yet -- it was an accident or otherwise. If they find out you aren't dead, they might try to finish the job ...'

He'd hit upon the infallible argument, and Emerson seemed only too glad to back him up. 'And if dear Daddy upstairs knows anything about it, he could be the next one they off. Trust me, I know these things.'

Luna seemed to deflate a little. She seemed to look inward for a moment, her eyes glazing over as though recalling a previous experience. When she recovered, she cast her gaze downwards and nodded. 'I reckon you're right about that,' she said softly.

Rolf wondered just what it was that had caused her to give in so easily.

They worked out the details of their deception fairly quickly after that. Luna consented to being Stunned and returned to the coffin until the burial tomorrow afternoon; Rolf and Emerson would return in the dead of the night to rescue her.

\---

Rolf supposed he should have expected Luna's funeral to be well turned out. He'd _known_ , even if the fact had only dimly registered in his head, that she'd been -- was -- a war hero. Still, he couldn't help feeling a thrill of awe when he realised that he was sitting only several rows behind _the_ legendary Harry Potter. The wife of said hero, Ginny Potter of the Holyhead Harpies, delivered a spirited eulogy that raised several eyebrows. Neville Longbottom, Hero of the Battle of Hogwarts, gave another that reduced half the audience to tears.

There were fortunately enough people about that Rolf was able to blend in reasonably well. After the service, he mingled around the crowd (which was slowly dissipating), keeping a safe distance from Xenophilius Lovegood. He caught snatches of conversation from a group of redheads as he edged away.

'... keep an eye on him, poor man ...'

'He isn't dealing well, is he?' This from a bushy-haired brunette whom Rolf suspected was the famous Hermione Granger. A tall redhead put an arm around her; he was unmistakably Ronald Weasley. _Blimey, is this place peppered with war heroes or what?_

He strode off quickly in the opposite direction, but not before he heard them murmur that one of them ought to have stayed with old Lovegood last night, and subsequently making plans to do just that tonight. Rolf made a mental note to spare no expense with Silencing Charms when he and Emerson carried out their midnight excavation.

\---

It was actually well past midnight by the time Rolf and Emerson were confident enough that all was still to get started on the digging. The spell was simple enough, but it took a good half hour before they finally hit the solid wood of Luna's coffin. Rolf wrestled the lid open, feeling absurdly like a character in those Muggle fairy tales his Muggle-born mother used to read him. Though perhaps it wasn't too far-fetched to compare Luna to the serene, blonde, illustrated princesses who had adorned the pages of those stories.

For one heart-stopping moment, he feared that she'd been in there for too long and had naturally suffocated, even with the charm Emerson had cast on the coffin to allow her access to fresh air. However, she came to with a simple ' _Ennervate_ ', and Rolf found himself breathing easily again.

'Hello,' she said, 'this feels rather familiar.'

'Just get out of there pronto,' snapped Emerson. Luna obliged, moving quicker than Rolf had expected she could. Within five minutes, the coffin was shut and the dirt levitated back over it -- re-burying the coffin was fortunately a swifter process than digging it out.

Emerson wiped a hand across his sweaty brow when they were done. 'All right,' he said. 'I'm going home. We can talk about this tomorrow.' He jerked his head at Luna. 'Make sure you keep her hidden.' And with that, he turned on his heel and Disapparated.

Rolf took Luna's arm and they followed suit, leaving Luna's grave almost exactly as it'd been before their intervention.

\---

'Oh,' said Luna delightedly, the moment she stepped into Rolf's flat. She dropped to her knees and ran her hands over Toby, who had nearly tripped him up by lying across the doorstep. 'What's his name?'

'That's Toby.' Rolf stepped over his Kneazle carefully. 'Toaster's around somewhere.'

As if on cue, the second Kneazle peeked out of a doorway.

'I hope Snorky's doing all right.' There was a note of wistfulness in Luna's voice.

'Snorky?'

'Short for Snorkack, of course. My Kneazle. I hope Daddy will remember to feed him ... oh, actually I hope someone's looking out for Daddy too.'

Rolf remembered the conversation he'd overheard at the funeral. It seemed like news that would reassure Luna on this point, so he repeated it to her and was rewarded with a grateful smile.

'I won't need to worry, then. Hermione's really practical about things, and if Mrs Weasley is there, he'll be well taken care of.'

At those words, Rolf remembered quickly that she was a guest, and _he_ should probably be taking better care of her. 'Would you like something to drink?' he asked.

'That would be lovely.' She beamed at him and stood, Toby in her arms, to follow him into the kitchen. 'I don't suppose you have Dirigible Plum Juice?'

'Only pumpkin, I'm afraid.' He poured her a glass, hesitating for a moment before pouring himself one as well. Something with alcohol in it was a more tempting choice, but he didn't think he needed mead or Firewhiskey to push him over the edge now.

As it was, the day (and the late hour) was finally catching up to him. No sooner had he leant back against his sofa than his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. He couldn't manage to stifle the gigantic yawn that escaped him. It seemed like a very good idea to just fall asleep right there ... his sofa really was rather comfortable.

'Sorry to be such a terrible host,' he gabbled through another enormous yawn, 'but my eyes are just ... closing on me ... I'll just grab a kip here, and, um -- make yourself at home ...'

She must have replied, but his head was too heavy to lift and consciousness seemed to be far, far away.

\---

'Good morning.' The voice was soft but cheerful, and the smell that wafted through the apartment was tantalising. It took Rolf a few seconds to get his bearings.

At some point during the night, he had been covered with a quilt. He was curled up quite cosily under it now, with his head perched against the arm of the sofa for support. Sunlight was streaming in through the kitchen door -- the curtains there must have been drawn, because the ones in the living room still retained their black-out positions.

He propped himself up with one elbow and the quilt slid down his torso. Through sleep-crusted lids, he made out the shape of a woman standing in the doorway to his kitchen.

Luna, he thought, and then he was wide awake and humiliatingly aware that he had a guest in his house who had, by the looks of it, cooked breakfast while he was still lazing on the sofa. He practically leapt across the room to his bathroom. Along the way his foot caught Toby -- or was it Toaster? -- and he narrowly avoided falling flat on his face by steadying himself with the nearest available hand-hold.

There was a sharp tingle in his skin, and he let go of Luna's arm as though he'd been hexed. He managed to stagger the last few steps to the bathroom door, where he paused, certain his face was flaming red.

'Um ... good morning,' he muttered, and disappeared into the relative safety of the toilet where he could privately knock his head on the back of the door.

When he emerged, clean-shaven and looking decent, Luna was serenely setting plates of eggs on the table. She smiled at him and motioned for him to sit. He hesitated, with a hand on the back of the chair.

'You really shouldn't have -- I mean, I'm sorry I wasn't up early enough to take care of it -- that is, yesterday was really exhausting ... but it couldn't have been a picnic for you either, so ... did you sleep well?' Nice start, Rolf, he sighed mentally.

'Oh yes,' said Luna, seating herself at the table as though it were her own. 'I wasn't very tired, though. I napped quite a bit while they were burying me, you know.' She stuck her fork into her eggs, considered them for a moment, then added, 'I hope you don't mind them scrambled.'

'Oh -- er -- yeah, thanks. Really. It's -- er -- been a long while since somebody else made breakfast. I -- um ... well, thanks.'

They were silent for the rest of the meal, after which Rolf took the plates to the sink.

'What are we going to do today?' Luna asked, once Rolf had finished setting the dishes to wash.

Rolf ran a hand over his forehead, ruffling the edge of his fringe. 'I should probably meet up with Emerson. Have a chat with him. We could probably still find out who killed -- tried to kill -- you.' Did it become attempted murder if the victim was brought back to life afterwards? 'And, um, pass the information to the Aurors, so they can catch whoever it is, and ...'

'Collect the reward?'

She said it mildly, without any accusation in her tone, but Rolf felt his cheeks colour with shame nevertheless. Their little business sounded terribly callous when put that way.

'Well, I know it's an unorthodox approach to investigation, but it does pay the bills, and ...'

'I don't mind. I think it's a good idea. I am surprised though. I was under the impression that you were a Magizoologist.'

'I am, this is just a -- er -- side job I can't exactly publicise. I haven't been doing this long, anyway, but it really helps, I mean, I was a little broke when Emerson came along, and the whole magical creatures consultancy business isn't really doing well ... just about no one really cares enough to call an expert in most of the time,' he concluded, shrugging.

'I do understand,' she said. 'Research is more of my thing, really, but not many people are willing to fund it.'

Rolf's eyes widened. 'Are you -- you're not in this field as well?'

'Not exactly. I specialise in rare creatures. Fantastic Beasts left quite a lot out, if you don't mind me saying.'

'N-not at all.'

'I am rather impressed by your field work though. If I had to consult an expert on any known creature, it would be you.' Again, there was no hint of accusation or bitterness in her tone, but Rolf couldn't help but feel mortified as he remembered suddenly a single call that he had rejected, which had come from the calm woman sitting at his kitchen table.

'Thank you,' he murmured, now feeling very interested in why she had called him, but seeing no tactful way to ask without highlighting his rudeness in ignoring her previous request. He was saved from having to respond to this by a sharp ring of the doorbell. 'I'll get it!' he said quickly. 'You'd better stay here, so they won't -- um -- see you. I mean, because you're supposed to be dead and all.'

It turned out to be a moot point, as his visitor was Emerson, who greeted him with a 'Right, we need to sort this out properly.'

Luna wandered out of the kitchen as Rolf offered Emerson the sofa (the latter raised his eyes at the blanket, but didn't comment).

'Hello Emerson,' she said breezily, 'I thought I heard your voice.'

'Luna!' Rolf frowned. 'What if it wasn't him?'

'That's a good question. Did you do an identity check? If you're worried about Polyjuice, you should probably ask him a question that only he would know.'

'No need to do identity questions to be certain she's who she's supposed to be,' grumbled Emerson, as though Luna wasn't right there.

'Rolf and I were just talking about his job,' Luna went on cheerfully, ignoring Emerson's comment.

'Just how much did you tell her?' Emerson, of course, had jumped to the first conclusion; Luna had conveniently failed to clarify which job they'd last spoken about. 'Listen, dead girl -- Loony -- you'll leave that job to us if you know what's good for you. It ain't no easy job, being a PI, digging for clues.'

'Actually, it's usually quite ...'

Emerson cleared his throat. Rolf let the rest of his sentence, simple when the dead give the answers, trail off into silence.

'Well, I think you're going to need my help with this case,' Luna objected. 'Seeing as I'm the only one who has any clues. Don't worry, I don't mind doing a three way split. Thirty-thirty-forty? It is only fair; I did die for it.' She smiled beatifically at Emerson, and Rolf fought the urge to laugh at how neatly she had handled him.

'Fine,' Emerson growled, looking pointedly away from her. He conjured a sheet of parchment and a quill. 'Let's just get down to business.'

\---

The facts were these: Luna Lovegood, aged twenty-five years, four months, twenty-one days, fourteen hours, two minutes, and fifty-six seconds, had been tracking the mysterious 'Nargles' in a place called Messengermire Woods when she was suddenly overcome by a feeling of drowsiness.

'Lemme get this straight,' said Emerson. 'You saw no flash of green light, no flash of any light, and no sign of people.'

'Well, no, I don't think so.'

Rolf, who was tracing Luna's last location on a map, shrugged. 'It doesn't look like a very well-populated area. And by well-populated, I mean by people, not -- er -- Nargles.'

Emerson gave him a dirty look; Luna smiled.

'Maybe you just didn't notice.' Emerson continued with the questioning.

'That is possible,' Luna conceded.

'It doesn't add up,' said Rolf. 'It's unlikely that she wouldn't have noticed the killing curse. It's the brightest beam there is. Even if it was too late for her to get out of the way, it'd still have been the last thing she saw.'

'So let's say it wasn't Avada Kedavra. Say it was a more subtle spell. Meant to knock her out. And then after she's out good, the attacker uses the killing curse.'

Rolf shook his head. 'But that doesn't make sense. If he planned to kill her, why such a roundabout fashion? And if he only meant to stun her, why is she -- I mean, why did she die?'

'Guess we're gonna have to do this the hard way,' sighed Emerson. 'We gotta check out the place she died.'

'I think that's a fantastic idea,' said Luna brightly. 'I rather think I'll need my wand, though.'

'And how d'you think you're gonna get that?'

'Wouldn't the Ministry have returned your possessions to your father?' said Rolf. 'I expect it'll be in your house.' He berated himself for not thinking of it earlier. It would have been so much easier for them if they'd grabbed it yesterday.

'We'll just have to stop by, then,' said Luna. 'Nip in, get the wand, out again. Easy, right?'

Emerson shook his head. 'Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?'

\---

Emerson continued to complain all the way to Ottery St. Catchpole. They'd Apparated half a mile from Luna's house, with Emerson taking a Disillusioned Luna Side-Along. (Rolf supposed he could have done it, but he thought it best not to take any chances. He still didn't understand why he hadn't killed her yesterday. Who knew if the glitch in his system might suddenly decide to iron itself out?) They arrived in an empty, overgrown field, and trekked their way towards Luna's home, giving Emerson plenty of time to point out everything that could go wrong.

'There's gonna be people in that house, and they ain't gonna be as easy to get past as the nutty old dad was.'

'I beg your pardon!'

'Emerson, could we not insult him?'

'Sorry,' muttered Emerson. 'Like father like daughter,' he added when Luna turned away from him. Rolf sighed.

'Look, chances are Mr Lovegood isn't going to remember me. I'll use the friend-from-abroad excuse again, and—'

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. They were in view of the house now, and even from a distance, it was evident that there was a whole swarm of wizards in Auror uniform milling around.

'You were sayin'?' said Emerson snidely.

\---

It was obvious to all three of them that attempting anything with a bunch of Aurors at the alert was not a good idea. Although Luna seemed to contemplate it for a long time before agreeing. In the end, Rolf and Luna hung back while Emerson got closer to do a bit of reconnaissance.

'I hope Daddy's all right,' said Luna, twisting one long strand of blond hair around her finger.

Rolf wasn't sure what to say to this. Luna was not the kind of person you gave standard platitudes to. He settled for changing the subject, hopefully, to one she would enjoy talking about.

'So ... tell me more about those Nargles.'

He guessed right; her face brightened, and by the time Emerson returned, he had learned that Nargles were incredibly tiny, could shapeshift, liked to inhabit mistletoe, and were considerably mischievous.

Emerson looked quite smug when he came back. 'Seems like this was a better idea than we thought,' he said happily. Evidently he had amassed some clues. 'Couldn't get squat from those Auror-types -- your Law Enforcement's a hell lot more closed-mouthed. Got in with some reporters, though. One of them had quite a bit of dough to dish -- when given the right incentive, of course.' Rolf supposed that by 'incentive', he meant Galleons.

'What are the Aurors here for then?'

'Seems someone went grave-robbing last night.'

'What?'

'Besides us. Not a moment too late, I'd say we were. Apparently, old Lovegood wasn't K.O.ed all night -- went wandering in the wee hours and woke the entire house, raving about his Luna.'

'Oh, Daddy,' sighed Luna.

'Turned out there were three people in hoods digging about in the grave outside. The bunch staying with Lovegood came out after them, but they Disapparated. They checked the grave—'

'They'll know it's empty!' Rolf tried not to panic.

'Yeah, but Skeeter -- that's the reporter -- reckons the three in hoods made off with it. Reasonable conclusion, if I do say so myself. Who's gonna believe that the body up and walked away on its own?'

'How on earth did that Skeeter reporter of yours find out all of this if you couldn't get anything out of the Aurors?'

Emerson shrugged. 'Still, we know there were three of them after dead girl here. That's a start.'

'So what about Luna's things?'

'They ain't in the house anyhow. The Aurors never sent them back -- s'all being held for investigation. I heard one of your bigwigs talking. That Longbottom guy?'

'Great. So her wand's in the Ministry, probably in the Auror Department, and the Neville Longbottom is probably heading the case.'

'Neville's a lovely friend.'

'Right.' Rolf rubbed his forehead. 'Great.'

So on top of everything, they now had a Ministry break-in to plan.

Unsurprisingly, Emerson was strongly opposed to the idea of going anywhere near the Ministry. Rolf wasn't too keen on it himself, but Luna seemed likely to do it herself (and give the game away) if they didn't help. She had a mad idea that she would be able to just waltz into the Auror's office and ask Longbottom (or even Harry Potter himself) nicely for her wand back.

'But I know Neville and Harry.'

'Yeah, and that's the problem. What d'you think will happen when they see you walking right up to them? You're supposed to be dead, remember?'

'I think Harry would understand. I could explain it to him, and then he'd—'

'Throw me into Azkaban for practising Dark magic, probably,' finished Rolf. 'Luna, promise me you'll stay put while Emerson and I look for your wand.'

'If they catch you doing that, you have a better chance of going to Azkaban,' Luna pointed out. Then, as an afterthought, 'You didn't do Dark magic bringing me back, did you?'

'I ...' Rolf wasn't sure how to answer. 'It just happened.'

She answered her own question a moment later. 'I don't think you did. Dark magic requires intent -- and I don't think you want to do anything wrong. But breaking into Harry or Neville's office isn't right, Rolf. They're good.'

'Yeah, but I'm not stealing. Your wand's yours.'

Emerson made an impatient noise. 'Look, if you want that wand back, we're doing it our way, got it?'

Luna subsided. Perhaps it was because they had entered the telephone booth that served as the Muggle entrance to the Ministry of Magic and a cool voice was asking them to state their name and purpose.

'Er ...'

'Emerson Cod, Appointment with the Aurors,' said Emerson.

'Rolf Scamander, retrieving my wand,' said Luna at the same time.

Three badges plunked to the bottom of the pay phone. Rolf picked one up. It said, Unnamed companion. The other two were Emerson Cod: Auror Appointment and Rolf Scamander, wand retrieval respectively. Luna plucked the first badge from Rolf's fingers, smiled, and stepped out of the phone booth.

As the telephone booth plunged downwards into the depths of the Ministry, Emerson glanced at Rolf.

'Is there something you ain't telling me about that girl?'

'What? No -- no, I don't know what you mean.'

'You know, that Skeeter reporter had quite a bit to say about her as well. Said she's known the girl since she was up at that school of yours. Always had a screw loose up there.' He twirled his finger in the direction of his head for emphasis.

'I think she's perfectly sane.'

'Huh.' Emerson snorted, but didn't continue his line of conversation.

They emerged in the Atrium, had their wands registered by the watchwizard on duty, and got into another lift.

'Level Two,' said the clipped female voice. 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including Auror Headquarters, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and Wizengamot Administrative Services.'

'Looks like that's us,' said Emerson, and they stepped out into a busy flurry of activity.

There seemed to be a lot of manpower in this department. Rolf wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing -- on one hand, it was easy enough to blend in with the crowd. However, it would also mean a lot of people to catch him if it came to that. He also had no clue exactly where to start. It wasn't as though there were blinking neon lights pointing him in the right direction. He contemplated Summoning the wand, but someone might notice that, even in this crowded corridor.

'... yes, I know it's unlikely, but you can't be too vigilant, sir ...'

Emerson nudged him and Rolf looked up to see Neville Longbottom striding along next to another Auror. Casually, they shifted their course to follow them.

'... my friend, and Harry's too, that's why,' Longbottom was saying. 'I assure you everything has been done.'

They were heading into a quieter corridor now. Emerson poked Rolf again. 'Disillusionment,' he hissed. Rolf quickly complied, making himself blend into the walls like a chameleon.

'Prior Incantatem revealed no defensive spells cast by the wand -- it's at my cubicle, if you want to test it yet again.' Longbottom pushed open a door and allowed the other Auror to step through.

'I'll distract him,' muttered Emerson. 'Get moving.' Loudly, he addressed the Aurors, 'Auror Longbottom, I presume?'

Longbottom turned around, eyes narrowing as he spotted Emerson. Rolf didn't stay to watch Emerson draw Longbottom aside or to hear their conversation -- he expected Emerson would be making a nuisance of himself, which didn't give Rolf much time to retrieve Luna's wand from Longbottom's cubicle. He hurried through the door after the other Auror.

There was a light popping noise, and Rolf felt the Disillusionment Charm slide away from him like egg yolk slipping down his back. The Auror in front of him turned, gasped, and before Rolf could even put his hands up, he was at wandpoint.

Damn. He should have known the Auror Office wouldn't have allowed any disguises.

'Who are you and what are you doing here?' demanded the Auror.

'I --' His throat felt dry. 'Rolf Scamander. I'm -- er -- retrieving a -- my, that is, um, wand.' His eyes flickered nervously downwards to the badge pinned to his chest.

The Auror peered at it.

'Auror -- Auror Longbottom told me to come through first,' he added. 'Someone's -- ah -- detained him outside.'

He wasn't sure whether the Auror bought it. The man's eyes were still narrowed. 'Fine,' he said at last. 'I'll escort you to his cubicle, and you can wait for him there. I doubt he'll take long.'

Rolf gulped. On the bright side, he wouldn't have to search the whole room (which was full of cubicles). The only thing was, Longbottom would be along soon. He couldn't very well make away with Luna's wand under Longbottom's very nose. Plus, there was the little problem that Longbottom hadn't sent him in, which would become very obvious very quickly.

Very quickly.

They had just arrived at Longbottom's cubicle when the door burst open and Longbottom entered. He had, Rolf noticed with a sinking heart, a firm grip on Emerson's robes.

'I'm a private investigator, I ain't interested in anything but solving the mysteries!' Emerson was protesting loudly.

'Then you won't mind a little questioning to help forward this investigation,' said Longbottom curtly. 'And neither will your accomplice.'

Rolf felt the blood drain from his face. Longbottom knew.

An hour later, they were sitting locked up in a holding room, their wands confiscated, waiting for ... well, Rolf wasn't sure who or what exactly.

'I told you this was a bad idea,' growled Emerson. 'Hey you!' he snarled at a Junior Auror guarding the door. 'I have the right to an attorney.'

This received no verbal response. The Junior Auror scratched his nose.

There was a knock on the door ('Finally,' said Emerson). The Junior Auror left them -- leaving the door wide open for what was strangely longer than necessary for an exit -- but nobody entered. The door fell shut again, leaving them without a guard, but Rolf had the strangest feeling of still being watched.

He didn't know how much time had passed before the door finally opened again and Longbottom returned ... with his arm around the shoulders of Luna Lovegood.

'Okay,' said Longbottom, frowning at Rolf and Emerson. 'Does anyone want to explain things?'

'This is something I definitely want to hear,' said a second voice, coming from the corner of the room. Rolf jumped as a silvery cloak slid off a tall wizard with jet-black hair ... and a lightning scar just off-centre of his forehead.

'Hello, Harry,' said Luna pleasantly.

\---

The game was up. They weren't in trouble -- at least, Rolf didn't think they were yet -- but Harry Potter kept giving him strange, calculating looks that were not at all reassuring. He'd told them the whole story -- no point hiding anything now, after all -- and thankfully, neither Auror seemed to be in a doubting mood.

'It's decidedly unusual,' said Potter, 'but then again, I've seen stranger things.' He and Longbottom exchanged a look and the latter smiled wryly. Potter sighed. 'I think it's time to bring in reinforcements.'

'They'll be delighted,' said Longbottom. 'But let's move this to your office.'

Reinforcements turned out to be three more war heroes: Ron and Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger. The latter didn't even pause for a beat before shooting questions at them. Rolf had heard that she was an excellent magical lawyer; now he could imagine just why.

'So you touch dead people, bring them to life, touch them again so they go back to being dead, but not after you've got information out of them?' she summed up, after she'd dragged the story out of him once more with a few neat questions.

Rolf confirmed this.

'Blimey,' breathed Ron Weasley. 'That must make it a hell lot easier to be a P.I.'

'Least someone sees the value in it,' muttered Emerson.

'I'm not sure it's exactly ethical, Ron,' said Hermione, pursing her lips.

'That's not really the point, Hermione,' said Ginny Weasley. She arched her eyebrows at Rolf. 'I'm assuming you brought Luna back. And didn't let her die again. Not that I'm not grateful, of course, but why? Or why not?'

'I -- it ...' His throat felt dry as the five of them, the most famous names in wizarding Britain, stared at him. Luna, however, saved him. Her fingers curled around his arm, making him jump.

'Shouldn't she be -- er -- dead from that?' asked Longbottom.

'I don't really know how it works. I may have lost the skill. I haven't touched -- um -- anything dead since ... well ...'

'That should be easy enough to verify.' Hermione opened the door and said briskly, 'Accio roses on my desk!'

Half a dozen wilted roses zoomed through the open door. Weasley caught it, grimacing as a thorn caught him. 'Blimey, Hermione, I sent them this morning.'

She laughed and kissed his cheek. 'Which was sweet of you, but you know I'm no good with flowers. I smashed them accidentally with a book.'

Longbottom shook his head, looking slightly pained as he fingered the drooping petals.

'Does it work with plants, Mr Scamander?'

'It did.' Rolf reached out to touch the flowers tentatively. The moment his finger connected, it sprung back into bloom. 'I reckon it still does.'

'And ... the converse?'

He touched it again. The rose wilted. He nodded. 'Still works, it seems. Just not on -- Luna.'

Hermione examined the flower. Then she looked at Potter and Longbottom. 'Is there a chance that she wasn't actually dead?'

'It sure didn't seem that way,' replied Longbottom. He glanced sideways, but Luna seemed completely unperturbed by the discussion of her death. 'She wasn't breathing, no heartbeat. No physical injuries; it was assumed to be the killing curse.'

'I see.' Hermione pursed her lips. 'Luna, can you tell us what happened to you?'

'Okay, okay,' Emerson cut in. 'Look, we've been over all of this before, all right? You've got dead girl back and we obviously haven't done her any harm. Nothing to justify you keeping us here. In fact, I demand compensation for wrongful arrest.'

'Oh, I don't know, mate,' said Weasley. 'Sounds like you might know enough to help us get to the bottom of what's going on here.'

'I'm a private investigator. I work for a fee.'

'I reckon that could be arranged.'

Emerson looked at him suspiciously. Finally, he nodded and stuck his hand out. 'Emerson Cod,' he said. 'Pleasure doing business with you.'

\---

It wasn't long before the Aurors and their friends had the answers they needed from Luna, Emerson, and Rolf. (Although most of them looked rather askance when Emerson mentioned his reporter source.) It was decided that until Luna's would-be murderers were apprehended and the mystery of her resurrection (and Rolf's inability to reverse it) had been solved, they would maintain secrecy.

Throughout the questioning, Rolf also noticed that Potter continued to stare at him periodically as though trying to figure something out. He was quite relieved when Hermione Granger finally wrapped up the questioning, announcing that she would need a few hours to tackle some theories and the rest of them should do further investigation at the scene of the crime to see if they could get her more information. For all that Potter and Longbottom were ostensibly in charge, Hermione certainly seemed used to giving orders.

They Apparated north and for the first time, Rolf and Emerson saw the site where Luna had been found. The Aurors had blocked off a large area of forest, although Rolf would never have noticed if Potter hadn't revealed the thin, blinking line of light when they arrived.

'If you crossed that without being scanned first,' he said, 'you'd have tripped off a million sensors at Headquarters.'

Rolf exchanged a look with Emerson, suddenly thankful that they had made their detour to the Ministry first.

'We'll split up inside,' said Potter. 'Two groups should be able to cover more area but still provide enough backup if either group runs into anything. I'll go with Ron and Mr Cod; Neville, you're with Luna, Ginny, and Mr Scamander.'

Rolf felt a great sense of relief to leave Potter and his unsettling gaze as Luna led his group away, saying, 'Come on, I remember this path.'

The light seemed to fade as they followed Luna deeper into the brush, further into the woods. Although it had to be late afternoon, with the sun high overhead for hours yet, it seemed as though they were trekking by twilight, so thick and close was the canopy. It reminded Rolf of the Forbidden Forest, which made him uneasy given how his last encounter there had turned out.

He supposed he shouldn't have been shocked when out of nowhere, a furious ball of something flew at their heads, screeching.

'Duck!' screamed Ginny. Two hands were on Rolf's back, pushing him to the ground before he could even obey the command. The thing -- a bat? -- skimmed the top of his hair. Longbottom fired a beam of red light at it, but missed.

'No, wait!' Luna caught his arm. 'That's a Nargle!'

'It also tried to take a dive at us, if you didn't notice,' snapped Ginny.

'That's what you were tracking?' asked Rolf, staring as the creature zipped off through the trees.

'Nargles, yes.'

'Are you sure?' Longbottom frowned. 'It looked plenty like a bat to me.'

'It's a shapeshifter,' explained Luna. 'It can take on the form of many other small creatures -- though not quite exactly the same.'

'Small creatures,' repeated Ginny. 'Then what is that supposed to be?'

She pointed one finger at a shape that was looming out of the darkness, just growing upwards from the ground, it seemed. It came closer and Rolf realised that it was actually millions of Nargles clustering together, taking a rather humanoid form ...

Three humanoid forms, in fact. More Nargles were arriving to form two shapes to flank the first one. They were clustering into what looked like three hooded figures.

'Luna,' whispered Ginny, 'they can't impersonate Dementors, can they?'

'They can't turn into anything bigger than themselves,' replied Luna cheerfully. 'I didn't know they could congregate like this, though. This is interesting!'

Rolf could see her point. Once you got over the shock of the whole thing, it was amazing to see such a creature, one he'd never known existed.

It had always been his dream to discover something new.

Longbottom didn't seem to share their sentiments. With a loud incantation, a silver bear exploded from his wand, just as Luna observed, 'It's not cold enough for them to be turning into real Dementors. I think it's just the shape.' She glanced at the silver bear. 'I don't think we'll need a Patronus. I don't feel anything. Nargles are mischievous, but not malicious -- I don't think they'll intentionally cause grave harm to us.'

'Get Harry and Ron,' Longbottom told the bear, and it lumbered off through the trees, faster than a real one.

'The girl is right.' The Nargles had stopped swarming, and now the three tall figures stood before them, looking remarkably like men in hoods. The one in the middle was actually speaking. 'We will not harm you. With you and the red girl we have no issue.'

'What do you want with Luna?' demanded Ginny immediately.

'She has passed into the realms previously. She holds something that can pass our barriers. That.' The creature's arm lifted, a stubby finger pointing at Luna's neck. Her hands flew to her collar and pulled out a pendant.

'Yes.' The Nargles dissolved from their form, swarming towards Luna.

'Stay back!' Longbottom threw his arms out protectively. 'Protego!'

The Nargles were repelled by the Shield Charm, bouncing back. Behind them, the sound of footsteps pounded the earth.

'Ginny! Neville! Luna!' Rolf heard Potter yell.

'We're all right!' Neville called back. 'There's some kind of -- thing—'

'Nargles! Neville, don't hurt them!'

'Bloody hell,' said Weasley.

'What in the hell is that?' Emerson brought up the rear, huffing a little from running.

The Nargles reformed the hooded figures. When they could speak again, they said, 'Where did you get that.'

Luna untied it and held it cupped in her hands. 'It was my mother's. Daddy found it just a while ago and gave it to me. For luck.'

'The talisman is ours. There are barriers that no human should cross before their time.'

'What does it do?' Rolf found himself asking.

'It provides safe passage through our barriers. But beyond those barriers are gates through which nothing can guarantee safe passage. We entrusted it once to humans but they have not guarded it well. We must have it back.'

There was a long pause while the Nargles' words sank in. It ended when Luna slowly held her pendant -- the talisman -- out to the Nargles.

'There are three of you present who have dealt with the realm beyond,' said the collective voice of the Nargles once the talisman had been swallowed up in their huddled form. Rolf remembered then that they had said they had no problems with Longbottom or Ginny. But three?

'You,' the Nargles' finger landed on Rolf, 'have a power to unlatch the portal. And you,' pointing at Potter now, 'know how it comes about.'

Rolf sucked in a surprised breath. Potter knew what was going on with his ... ability? It was his turn to stare at the Auror; but Potter's face remained impassive.

'I have an idea,' he said calmly.

'It is,' said the Nargles cryptically. 'We guard the gates. We know such things.'

'Do you know why it didn't work on Luna, then?' Rolf asked quickly. 'And how can I get rid of it?'

The Nargles had no eyes -- at least none that Rolf could see, in the form they had taken. However, Rolf had the distinct feeling of a hard gaze on him.

'The girl entered the realms but did not cross them. You were sufficient to recall her.

'As for your second question. There is a new gate open.' That piercing feeling of being stared at shifted. 'You know the dangers when a path to our realms is uncontrolled. Close it.' The order, he realised, was directed at Potter.

Having relayed this missive, the Nargles started to disintegrate into their separate bodies, disappearing into the thick undergrowth of the forest. For a while, no one seemed to be able to think of anything to say. Finally, Emerson gave a slightly harsh laugh.

'Well, that was disturbing. And by disturbing, I mean worse than watching your momma get it on kind of creepy.'

'I'll say,' said Weasley, rubbing his forehead. 'And what'll Hermione say when it comes out to the world that there really are Nargles?'

This brought a short laugh from everyone except for Luna.

'Oh, I don't think we're meant to tell anyone about them,' she said earnestly. And Rolf thought he rather agreed. Some magical creatures were meant to be studied. But others ... others should probably be left well alone.

'Let's go back,' said Ginny. 'I guess we've discovered as much as we ever will.'

Potter nodded. 'Magic is much deeper than we can understand,' he sighed. 'I'm not sure what we're going to file as a report, though,' he added ruefully. 'The paperwork is going to be a nightmare. And we're probably going to have to liaise with the Department of Mysteries ...' His gaze shifted to Rolf.

'I'll handle the paperwork,' offered Longbottom, and together they trooped back towards the Auror-demarcated boundaries.

\---

The administrative part of their little adventure did prove to be something of a three-ring circus. The official story Potter and company decided to put forth was that the 'corpse' they had discovered had proved to be a clever duplicate, and the actual Luna Lovegood had been unconscious in the forest. With Emerson and Rolf's help, they had located her and revived her. As far as Rolf knew, a plausible explanation for how the duplication had come about was never fabricated, but Potter and Longbottom submitted their concerns about the entire forest being 'dodgy', along with a petition to secure it as an old magical site. This got the Department of Mysteries involved, and Rolf supposed that Ministry employees were used to things that involved that department being inexplicable.

The media was another matter, of course. Hardly an hour after the Aurors closed the case, they began to buzz about the Ministry like -- well, like Nargles, thought Rolf, thinking of the way they had swarmed about in the forest.

'Rita Skeeter's right at the front, of course,' said Hermione in a disgusted tone.

'That's great!' said Weasley.

'I'm sorry?'

'We can send Luna out with an official statement. I mean, after the last time Rita dealt with Luna, can you imagine the look on her face when she runs into her again?'

Fighting a war together, Rolf thought, certainly gave people a lot of in-jokes.

'Er -- Mr Scamander?'

'Um, you can call me Rolf,' he told Potter.

'Right. I -- er -- well, I spoke to the Department of Mysteries about your ... gift. It began after that mishap in the Forbidden Forest that you told us about earlier, didn't it?'

'Yeah ...'

Potter nodded. 'I happen to know that there's an artefact there -- I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly what, but it may be what's caused this whole thing.'

'Oh.'

'I spoke to Gordon Grant in the Death Division; he thinks that there's a chance we could reverse this. Assuming, of course, that you're willing to work with him.' Potter looked at him seriously. 'I admit, I wasn't quite comfortable with the fact that you could bring dead people back on a whim, but it doesn't appear to be what you've done -- other than that business you have going with Mr Cod, so ... well, I won't force you.'

'That's ...' Rolf struggled to find words. 'It's good. I mean, I do want to. I never wanted this ... ability. And Emerson's going back to America with the reward from this case, so ... yes. I'd like very much to work with Mr Grant.'

Potter smiled, his face lighting up with relief. 'Good.' He stuck out his hand. 'Thanks for your help. And -- uh -- for Luna.'

'No problem, Mr Potter.'

'Harry,' he said, and before Rolf had enough time to process the thought that he might just be on first-name terms now with the Boy Who Lived, someone called him away.

Luna came and slipped her arm around his elbow. 'I have to speak to the press,' she said. 'Will you come with me?'

'What are you going to tell the reporters?' he asked, as she led him down the corridor.

'The truth, of course.'

'Won't that contradict Potter -- Harry's story?'

'That'll just make it more believable. Rita Skeeter thinks I'm not quite sane, after all.'

'But you're perfectly all right,' said Rolf indignantly.

'I know that, and you know that, so it doesn't matter if nobody else does.'

'It doesn't bother you that people don't believe you?'

'Just because people don't believe things, it doesn't make them less real.'

There was a momentary lull in their conversation as Rolf let her words sink in. They reached the lifts and were waiting for them when he remembered something.

'Luna, there's something I was wondering about. Before we met, I got a call from you, I think. I'm sorry I didn't answer. It was because ...' Because I was terrified I'd run into a Kneazle I'd brought back to life.

'Ah yes. It was a curious case,' she said. 'Poor Snorky. He was utterly spooked, so I thought I ought to call in an expert.' She raised a finger to her chin thoughtfully. 'In retrospect, I understand -- it can be quite the startling experience to be dead and then alive again.'

Snorky ... Luna's Kneazle. The dead Kneazle? Rolf's breath caught in his throat.

'You mean ...'

'I expect it's just as well that you didn't come to check him out. I'm not sure I would have been very happy to have Snorky become dead again.'

'Luna, how did you know?'

'I didn't, not until I met your Kneazles. I didn't really sleep much that night -- I'd had a good nap earlier, if you recall. I thought a bit about it, and it made sense. I meant to ask, but I think Emerson arrived and I never got round to it.'

'Oh. I'm sorry about -- about Snorky. I watched him get knocked down by that car and I didn't know I could do that -- bringing people back from the dead thing yet, so I just touched him and I thought I must have been mistaken about him being dead, and I must've killed something else that I hope didn't belong to you, though not that it's good, killing some other person's pet—'

He stopped abruptly, because Luna put her finger to his lips.

'It's okay,' she told him. 'You have nothing to be sorry about. Strange things happen in this world, Rolf, but it's always for a reason. I don't wish you'd left Snorky dead, but that doesn't make me a bad person who wanted another person's pet to die. I'm not sorry you brought me back, although I hope no one else died for that.'

'I don't think so. There wasn't anyone in proximity except Emerson and your dad, and they're both alive ... I think your case was special. That whole realms thing the Nargles were talking about.'

Luna nodded. 'That dream I had before you woke me. There was a river, and I kept trying to cross it. I think that must have been the veil between this world and the next.' She smiled and closed her eyes. 'Mum was there, I think. She kept telling me to go back, but I was trying to go to her.'

'Are you -- sorry I pulled you back?'

'Not at all. There's still so much to see in this world. Death would be an adventure, but I'll get there eventually. I'm not in a hurry.'

The lift arrived and they stepped in. It shot upwards, taking them towards the Atrium, where hordes of reporters would probably descend on them the moment they stepped out.

'Will I see you again after this is done?' asked Luna suddenly.

'If you want to.' Rolf felt his mouth curling into a smile at the idea of meeting Luna for tea, chatting about rare creatures and learning more of her beautiful philosophy.

'I would love to,' he amended warmly. 'Though,' he added, 'I probably shouldn't go anywhere near Snorky until the Department of Mysteries work out my -- um -- bug.'

'We'll make a date,' promised Luna.

'The Atrium,' announced the disembodied voice from the lift.

'Thanks for coming with me,' said Luna.

'I don't mind. Ron Weasley seemed to think you could handle reporters well; it should be something to watch.'

They smiled at each other and stepped out of the golden gates into the excited throng of waiting reporters.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer** : A great deal of the plot is adapted from the show Pushing Daisies, including several lines that hail from the first/second episodes. The idea of 'passing through the realms' is inspired by Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty.


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